The Hangover
by Phritzie
Summary: Jim needs to reconsider the benefits of mixing drinks, and Leonard is keeping secrets. Rated for language. Kirk-centric.
1. Hungover

**A/N:** Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. It looks like I might be on to something, here. Don't want to say anything until I'm sure, but... let's just say that I now have a picture of what my first multi-chapter is going to look like. ::Grin.::

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, no- I don't own Star Trek, and I certainly don't get paid for this.

**Warnings:** Rated for language. Slash if you get a magnifying glass and squint.

* * *

_Motherfucker._

There were no words to describe the kind of pain Jim was in right now. His temples throbbed viciously as he pulled a pillow, the one he usually used to hug at night, up over his face. The cool fabric did nothing to assuage his pounding headache, and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, photo-sensitive even behind the large white barrier.

Bad idea. The pressure of even that simple muscle contraction, so close to his ailing brain, caused him to sit up abruptly. Agony spiked through his head and soreness became apparent as he stumbled into the bathroom and embraced the toilet, retching. _This is no headache_, Jim thought bitterly. An uninterested glimpse of his alarm clock on the way to the lavatory had alerted him to the fact that it was about nine in the morning- Sunday morning. Jim had been drinking last night.

As he finished emptying the contents of his stomach into the bowl of the toilet, he lifted up his head and flushed, miserable. With quite a bit of effort, Jim got onto his knees, and inched over to the sink to grab a cup sitting on the counter. He filled it with water, swished, and then spat, groaning. Even after expelling the hatred in his gut, the hurting in his mind had not abated.

Jim fucking _hated _hangovers.

And then, well. They hated him back.

"Lights."

The fluorescents clicked on.

Sharp, cruel knives dug into his mind as the near-blinding intrusion caused another wave of nausea to roll through him. A moan of anguish escaped his lips. Eyes shuttered and bleary, Jim's head turned to stare up at the perpetuator of his pain. The answering eyebrow and a smile void of sympathy were not at all surprising.

"Good morning, sunshine," his best friend and roommate drawled pleasantly.

Jim was not amused.

"I'm going to wound you."

"Or not."

"Make me coffee," he begged, trying to sound demanding.

Leonard leaned against the door jam amicably, clad in only the low-slung jeans he slept in - _"Who sleeps in jeans?" _Jim had once questioned outrageously – and without much mercy, lifted his own lightly steaming mug to his lips. Its aroma made Jim's freshly-emptied stomach jerk, but he knew it would provide him with the relief he needed to strangle his best friend.

"Make it yourself. It's not my fault you're an irresponsible shit." Leonard continued to flaunt his mug. _Bastard_.

Jim glared. "I'm never going to drink heavy again." _For real this time, _he thought. And then, scowling did add, "for real this time." Another after-thought. "I promise."

Brown eyes lifted to the ceiling of their shared bathroom. "Of course you aren't. There's some coffee in the kitchenette. Ungrateful brat." With that parting gift, Leonard straightened and went to go throw on a shirt. If Jim had been in a better frame of mind, he might've stared at the curve of his back, or made an obscene comment about his state of dress, to show him what a brat was, but instead he just ordered the lights down to five percent intensity. With that tiny bit of aid, he crawled his way out of the bathroom and over to their cramped kitchen, seating himself at the small island in the middle, on a stool that hadn't come with the room's furnishings. This might have given him pause. However, Jim didn't care about stools right now- there was something much more important to attend to.

In front of him sat a cup of coffee.

Jim picked it up with both hands reverently, his brain still being needled by his every movement, but that didn't matter, either. _I have coffee_, he thought euphorically. He took a sip and made a noise low in his throat. Leonard chose then to saunter in, a bottle of aspirin in one hand and two pills already shaken out into the other. He dropped them unceremoniously onto the counter, and Jim almost spilt coffee on himself in his rush to make sure one of the precious pain relievers didn't take a tumble off the edge.

"You'd better be glad I'm a doctor," Leonard grumbled, taking his own seat, "or else I wouldn't be nearly so god damned nice to you. Next time this happens - because I _know_ it will - I'm just going to have a hangover hypo ready to stick you in the neck with. " Well, Jim could accept that. The man had just retrieved him caffeine _and_ drugs. There was no beating generosity.

Still, Jim grinned, and said, "I hardly think you would leave me to suffer even if you weren't on the medical track, Bones." He batted his eyelashes for extra effect. "I'm too cute."

Making a noise of disgust, Leonard simply chose not to answer to that. Instead, he grabbed the cup he'd left on the island counter when he'd disappeared to dress, and seemed suspiciously impervious as he gulped down a fair amount of the scorching brew. _He probably has a callus on his tongue from graveyard shifts at the clinic_, Jim speculated.

And so they sat in silence, as his hangover slowly dwindled to a manageable, dull pulse and the coffee did absolutely nothing to improve his breath, before Leonard finally stood, apparently finished with his coffee, and put his mug in the sink. "I'm heading out."

Jim felt something in him sink. They had planned to fuck around at the gym and have fun that Sunday, semester midterms having ended the Friday before the weekend, in celebration of spring break- _before_ Leonard was going to be shutting down somewhere, off-campus. He never knew where the grumpy old man slunk off to, during vacation, but it seemed spending time with Jim still wasn't good enough to get his mind off things, even after having known him for about eight months now.

_Figures_.

"Wait, Bones. Now? Weren't you gonna stick around for a while? I feel better- I just need to go get cleaned up, and then I'll be down for pretty much anything." Jim vaguely registered the fact that he sounded disappointed, talking at Leonard as he moved around the room changing into a fresh, dark pair of jeans, grabbing this and that – and _his_ _shoulder bag? _– on the way out.

Leonard paused at the door for a minute, before looking back at Jim with an indiscernible expression on his face. "I should be back in about an hour." And then he was gone, a hydraulic hiss following him close after.

Jim was still hungover. He had crusty sleep in the corners of his eyes, he was wearing little more than his boxers and a wifebeater, and his powers of observation were that of a sloth. In short, Jim looked like shit- and wasn't doing himself favors right now by just sitting there sipping at coffee like an old lady. He took it upon himself to focus his meager mental energy into cataloguing Leonard's appearance.

Old man shoes_ – "Loafers," _Bones would correct. A t-shirt with something snide printed on the front, his _nice_ jeans, a bunch of PADDs stuffed into his "not gay, Jim" shoulder bag, and the keys to his motorcycle jingling in his pocket.

Robotically, Jim got up and downed the rest of his coffee.

He moved to the bathroom, opened the cabinet, and grabbed his toothbrush- squeezed out _a touch more_ than just a pea-sized glob of toothpaste onto the bristles, and smirked while he brushed.

And as he spat into the sink and stripped for a shower, Jim began to laugh mirthlessly, twisting the knobs to a little hotter than usual.

_Fuck me. Bones has a study date.  
_

* * *

**A/N:** And there's your sample. Yes, it's the coffee. Yes, I really want to do this. No, I don't know if I will or not.


	2. Chance Meetings

**A/N: **Kirk's age here is 28 upon joining the academy. I figured that himself and Kirk Prime both became captain of the _Enterprise _at 31, and while Prime Kirk supposedly joined Starfleet out of high school, nu!Kirk never served on the _Republic _or the _Farragut_. I figure it's fair to tweak ages. 'Sides, it makes it easier for me to write in Kevin Riley, as if Jim was 22 here, Kev would be about 15, and I don't think it would be natural to make him a whiz like Chekov. (end huge authors note)

**Disclaimer: **I do not, and will not, own Star Trek, or the café Bean Machine.

**Warnings:** Rated for our boy's mouths. This is officially unavoidable as pre-slash, but the story will remain friendship-centric.

Oh, and its unbeta'd. Be afraid.

* * *

The first time Jim had met Leonard McCoy, the man had thrown up on him.

The second time, he'd made up for it by paying for his Americano.

"_So, nice place, right?" Jim wondered openly, looking about the Bean Machine, a coffee spot he'd started frequenting about a week ago. It really was an alright hang-out, decorated with sharp angles and modern expressions - all painted down in browns, golds, and dark reds. The Bean Machine reminded him of quiet opulence, like how a woman in her forties might begin to obsess about the décor of her house and end up renovating for every season, silently distressing her husband and impressing anyone who was brave enough to visit. _

_The iron chairs were cast and painted in one direction, to imitate wood. Leonard leaned forward in his, hands folded before him and his double-cupped macchiato. "Yeah, I've been meaning to stop by for a while. Funny, seeing you here, when I finally decided to give the place a look."_

_Jim smirked quaintly. Funny seeing you here. "I've been coming to this place for a while now. They make some pretty good coffee, nothing like the disgusting crap the replicators spit out. Tastes awful and wrong." He made a face to emphasize his point, and Leonard snorted in amusement, charmed, or so he seemed._

"_Exactly; I wonder when they're finally gonna start getting their shit together and recalibrate the recipes," Leonard drawled, drinking his coffee as he watched Jim. Well, at least they had something in common. Dislike for replicated food, and a tendency to pick people apart._

_He was having trouble with Leonard in that regard, though. The man was clammed up tight from his divorce, secretive, and anti-social, so far as he could tell. Leonard probably _had _only come down to the __Bean Machine__ to see if there was better coffee around- but Jim wasn't having any of that. It was destiny when he vomited up hours of drinking all over Jim's favorite leather jacket, and it was destiny when Leonard had ducked into the energetic barista to escape from the rain and immediately spotted Jim at the same time he had seen the aviophobic doc. _

"_Shit, kid, you stalking me?"_

_Yep. They were meant to be friends, and Jim knew it; how to convince the cranky orthopedic doctor of that, and avoid a restraining order- he didn't know, but he would, even if it meant being a little more proactive than usual._

_Then again, what was the worst that could happen? Drinking, no matter the contents of the beverage, was never best done alone, and the man _had _said all he had left to lose was his bones._

* * *

"He's turned me into a _girl_," Jim mumbled, dressing slowly to pass the time. It had only been about a half hour, and he was already having trouble standing in one place for more than a second, hands fidgeting and eyes seeking something of interest.

Jim needed some kind of action. He had woken up with a terrible hangover no less than an hour ago, and yet, he was already feeling restive.

_This is what the gym is for_, Jim decided suddenly, standing up from where he'd been crouched on the floor smoothing vertical patterns through the carpet. Half the room was done already, and it looked ridiculous just leaving it like that- but he promised himself that he'd finish it later.

Already dressed for their aborted work-out, Jim looked around for his facility card and replicated an apple as an afterthought, biting into it as he jogged out the door and down the stairs of the dorm. He winked out of courtesy to a girl having trouble getting into her room, pausing for all of five minutes to implement an override and write it down for her- _just until she gets her code replaced, of course_.

The sprawling lawn of the quad was less noisy than usual, but spring break had just begun, and a good number of cadets were staying to get ahead in their pre-requisite classes and to prep their club assemblies for off-world trips. Jim knew for a fact that the xenolinguistics club were going to take a heavily chaperoned visit to Risa that week, for the large amount of alien traffic that spoke little to no Standard. He would have gone – _come on_, _Risa _– if it hadn't meant leaving Leonard to himself, planet-side and without anyone to really rely on if he needed help.

As the treasurer of the club, Jim wasn't integral to the trip anyway. There was only one thing about the field day that was skewed- and that was the people who _were_ going. He was only friends with so many people in the xenolinguistics club.

"Kirk!"

Well now. _There_ was one less.

Jim's leisurely gait slowed as a positively _radiant_ grin took him at the sound of the Bantu woman's musical voice, turning with intent written over every inch of his face. Today might have started off rough, but at least Jim could still harass the hell out of his favorite woman. Up until now, Uhura and he had formed a peace treaty of sorts, a mutual decision to be civil adults - and Jim did everything he could to toe the edges of that agreement. If only to torment her.

_But this? This might be a deal-breaker. _

Uhura strode casually in her cadet reds – _does she ever take those off? _– toward Jim, a light smile on her face and a bag hooked over her shoulder.

"Kirk! Fancy seeing you out here, in the sunlight," she offered lightly, a benevolent tease. And what a fancy it was- but that wasn't what gave him pause.

The expression on Jim's face dimmed as his thousand-watt grin burned out, the filament having been shattered by the presence of the man on the dark skinned woman's side, arm looped affably through hers. He was so surprised, in fact, that instead of goading Uhura as he had initially planned, he replied, "Hey there, Bones. Where the fuck is your bike?"

_Whoops. Okay. So, subtly_.

"Jim," Leonard said, eyes sharp and voice low, "watch your language."

He found it funny that he was being reprimanded for his mouth in front of someone who was majoring in linguistics.

"I'm sorry, Uhura – when _are_ you going to tell me your first name? - and you're right, Bones. That was uncalled for." Jim amended, his voice flavored with sweet warmth that he didn't feel, "But really, where's your bike? I thought you took it out this morning. You know, to impress the ladies." His intended message hit soundly, and Leonard's brow ticked up in recognition.

"Right," Uhura said slowly. "Well. It was…_ pleasant_, seeing you, but you look like you were going somewhere," Jim's eyes flicked to Leonard, but the man was refusing to look at him now, "and you seem pretty unsociable today, so I'd rather not be around you at the moment. Have a nice day."

Forcing a very overdone smile, he took the gift for what it was and snapped to attention in a clout of sudden humor, which was, as he noted, a lot harder to do in trainers. "As you were," Jim replied, still beaming, and turned back towards where he had been heading initially- _before_ his day was officially reduced to shit.

"As _you _were," he heard Leonard mumble angrily behind him, and as their footfalls faded behind him, Jim decided he had a whole new motivation for hitting the gym now.

* * *

_Well, that didn't help much._

Jim sighed, and grimaced as blood that wasn't his smeared a sticky red over his jaw when he rubbed it. Though he had emerged fairly unscathed, only suffering a somewhat bruising punch to the face, his friend and sparring partner of that day, Kevin Riley, was currently sitting with his nose draining into a towel in medical. In Jim's defense, he hadn't given much thought to how much of a bleeder Kevin was, and it was an accident that Kevin had moved in time to get it square in the nose; though Jim supposed he should probably know better. He was at least seven years his senior, which happened to remind Jim just how old he was getting. He'd apologize again for breaking Kevin's nose later, maybe over a drink, which Jim bet they could both use.

In the meantime, he was busy putting as much distance between the grounds hospital and himself as possible. That was Leonard's territory, and while he would have liked to be there when Kevin was checked out of the clinic, he didn't want to really see his roommate right now, which was also why he wasn't going back to their dorm anytime soon.

Maybe it _was _a drinking night…

'_Just not heavily, right?' _he thought, amused. This was definitely turning into a SNAFU kind of day for him. He _would_ invite Kevin for drinks out, on him, and they would watch themselves and be good little boys. If only so that he wouldn't have to catch even more shit from Leonard for overdoing it.

There was only one problem. Jim looked down at his sweats, rumpled, and the white t-shirt he had worn that was now ruined from Kevin's spurting nosebleed. Frowning in distaste, he gingerly took it off and stuffed it in the nearest trash bin. It was useless now.

But Jim couldn't fight the inevitable, especially now without a shirt, although the glances he was getting from some cadets, both appreciative and disgusted – _well, that's what I get for getting blood all over me _– told him he would need to at least visit his dorm for a shower and a change of clothes, if he wanted to be going anywhere tonight.

It wasn't really much of a contest. Either he could linger, and get assaulted by a Deltan out on the quad, or he could do the smart thing and do that after Leonard had left to go join his people as hermit crab.

Jogging along paths he normally wouldn't take; Jim approached their dorm from behind, stalking around to the parking lot's side entrance and darting inside. He made as little noise as possible, creeping up stairs and not even pausing to feel ridiculous when a guy from his analytics class openly gaped at his stealthy antics, almost dropping the basket of laundry he was carrying.

Jim finally made it inside their dorm room, stabbing at the keypad but lingering as he passed through the door, as if Leonard would pop out any minute with a hypospray to nail him for being a jackass earlier. He was almost disappointed when he realized no one was there.

Almost.

Wasting no time, Jim stripped and threw his sweaty clothes into the hamper. His shower was short and utilitarian- and his hair was still wet enough to be sticking to his forehead as he hopped around the room trying to get into a pair of jeans, his jacket flapping obscenely. When he was finally dressed, he located his credit chip and was about to be _out of there_ when the door chimed.

"Shit," Jim hissed through his teeth. "Fucking shit, I'm not ready for this now."

'_You're a big boy'_, something inside him said, '_stop being such a pussy and answer the door. If it's Bones, fine. You're on your way out.'_

But it was only three in the afternoon, and Jim hadn't planned too far ahead beyond getting a change of clothes and washing away Kevin's blood before maybe heading over to Gaila's to study, or something- if she was even on campus.

The door chimed again, more insistently, though Jim secretly knew that it was impossible for a doorbell to be persistent. Resigning himself to his fate, he cautiously approached the door and disengaged the occupancy lock that Leonard and he had set up after about a month into the academic year.

Well, Jim had set it up. Leonard bitched about his paranoia and made him food.

The pressure sensors activated with the combined presences on either side of the door, and Jim let his timid hope die in his chest as his eyes met Leonard's. Gravity pushed his lips down in a curve against his will.

"'Bout time you answered the door, you ass. Quit your frownin' and let me in," Leonard clipped, easing past Jim as he stepped back and the door slid shut again. He dropped his shoulder bag on to his bed, turning to look back at Jim tersely. "Got any explaining to do for earlier?"

No, Jim really didn't know how to explain himself, so he just rested on old habits, shooting back, "I don't know, Bones, would you want to explain why you didn't just tell me you had a _date_ instead of leaving like you did this morning? Maybe I wouldn't have been so much of a jerk if I wasn't so surprised."

Shit. That sounded more like an admission than a barb. And Leonard could tell, too, because all at once something in him softened and Jim hated that, because he realized maybe he wanted to have a fight right now, and impressing that need onto his friend wasn't necessarily fair.

"Jim, I wasn't on a date with Uhura. She's in my xenobiology class and wanted to trade notes around. It was a nice day today, so I asked if she wanted to grab some air out on the quad, and she said yes. 'Sides, she wouldn't be interested in an old man like me," Leonard explained plainly, sounding a little bit put-upon, "she's dating some Vulcan."

That surprised him. "_Uhura_? Dating a _Vulcan_, really? Aren't they kind of dull? You know, emotionally?"

Leonard didn't look any more informed than Jim was. "I wouldn't have a fucking clue why someone like her would date a pointy-eared goblin, Jim, but it's her choice."

"I know- I wasn't questioning that. She's a smart woman, if she wants to date a Vulcan, the more power to her. But, you were just studying? Seriously?" It felt weird, to be as uncertain – _or concerned _– as he was to his friend's intentions, but today had been a weird day, full of insecurities and mishap. Jim was taking liberties.

An irritated sigh escaped the doctor. "Yes, Jim," and then like that, his appearance seemed to register for Leonard, because his forehead creased and his right eyebrow ascended. "Now, where are _you_ off to?"

Lying was easy for Jim. "Was going to go find your unfaithful ass and ask if you wanted to catch lunch and then crash around here for a while before going out for a drink with Cadet Riley," he paused, and an unnecessary, perhaps inappropriate inflection of pride entered his voice. "I broke his nose."

Leonard grimaced as a chuckle worked its way out of him. "You're a fucking dumbass."

"That's a yes, right?"

"Sure, Jim. But if you drink in arrears again- I'm not spending the night with you and Kevin in jail."

Jim knew better. "Great. But apparently we're walking, 'cause your bikes missing." As an unimpressed scowl slanted Leonard's lips, Jim laughed. "Don't ask me how I know- let's just go find it and eat. Do you think it would be alright if we smushed Kevin on with us? Can your bike even handle that? I wanna try it."

Leonard rolled his eyes, and followed him out of their quarters as they went to go search for his motorcycle, that weird, disturbingly aesthetic pattern Jim always smoothed into the carpet when he was bored left unfinished and forgotten. "I don't know, but I'm definitely driving- and you'd be the one sitting behind me."

Because he couldn't see his face, Leonard missed Jim's answering eye-roll. "Fine by me. Hey, can we grab some coffee on the way too?"

* * *

**A/N:** And there you are. ;P Can I tempt you into reviewing with a cookie or two? ::Waggles baked goods.::


	3. Notes

**A/N: **Merry Christmas, you guys! Here is the long-awaited chapter. D: I'm so, so sorry that this took so long to get out, but between actually having the time to write/edit- and you'll find out why this chapter was so hard to complete in a moment – well, let's just say the next chapter will hopefully not take as long to produce as this one.

P.S. I use way too much dialogue. All the time. D: This chapter happens to double as a chance to correct this. The story in its entirety remains unbeta'd, so… you know, "at your own risk'.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Star Trek, and I make no money from writing this.

**Warnings**: Language, and as usual no sexual content- though there is Jim, and he is a very sexual being. I assume that having read this far would indicate no protestation. You have been warned.

* * *

Sunlight drained from the sky in pink and orange rivulets as Jim fell back on to the concrete steps of the academy library. Leonard took his predictable position on Jim's left, while Kevin, parts of the skin on his nose still red and shiny, fell down at his right.

His back kind of hurt. "Fuck me," Jim complained to no one in particular.

This really wasn't turning out to be his day.

Leonard didn't look particularly willing to humor his bullshit, so the immediate, "No," that Jim got in response from the exhausted doctor didn't phase him.

"God, Bones," he asked lowly, "how do you lose a _bike_?"

"I changed my mind. Fuck you."

"Seriously, it's not like you can drop it on the floor and go- _whoops, nobody move- thick carpet._"

As this was going on, all Kevin did was swig from a heavily perspiring water bottle, ever the captive audience to their bickering.

Jim sighed. Leonard continued the argument far beyond what he had wanted to be the last word. The stone beneath them was warm and the dark was bringing a familiar chill to the air. Lasting streaks of the long day's light hadn't yet left the horizon, but Jim estimated about half an hour before it was completely dark out.

They had spent hours combing through the campus lots, interrogating cadets while they put Leonard on look-out for anything that even remotely resembled his motorcycle. Still, it was nowhere to be found. Having begun their search at the library, it was nearing eight o'clock at night, and they had come full circle.

It should have been no surprise to him that he had become somewhat intolerant.

"Jim- for the last time, it had a god damn lock on it. We were only gone for _fifteen minutes_," Leonard stressed, glaring from his peripherals at the sour-faced blonde, "and since when are you any good at minding your own shit? At least once a day, I hear, 'Hey Bones, where's this? Have you seen that?'"

Ignoring him, Jim chose instead to reflect upon what they could have overlooked in their hunt. It was possible that they made a mistake in choosing not to search outside academy grounds today, but if somebody had really stolen Leonard's bike- he doubted they were sticking around to joy ride. There wasn't even anything interesting to do with your time off-grounds unless you traveled in any direction for a good five miles, excluding of course the occasional bar or…

Or coffee shop.

"Bones, I hate to break it to you- but no one cares," Jim said flatly, effectively interrupting Leonard mid-rant and causing Kevin to snicker. "Because uhm," he swallowed in vain against his dry throat, Adam's apple bobbing hard, "because we're gonna go grab coffee."

Perhaps not too surprisingly, no one was averse to this proposal, as Jim's projected time for the arrival of night had proven to be accurate, and the hard concrete beneath them was rapidly cooling.

En route he somehow managed to convince Kevin to spare a sip or two of his water, which was actually not replicated but purified snow melt from right there in California. Naturally, Jim took one look at the bottle and deduced that the amount left was pretty much two sips, and downed it.

"You break my nose and you steal my water," Kevin complained, kicking a stray stone off the path.

Well, Jim figured that was neither here nor there, and so he laughed and popped him over the head with his now-empty plastic container and tossed it in a passing recycle receptacle, but said nothing. If he was being completely honest, Jim would even admit that he wasn't paying too much attention to the young mans weak protests. Kevin should be used to it, anyway- and if he was really that upset about it, Jim would know.

They walked in a different formation than how they had chosen to sit, with Leonard on Kevin's left and Jim on Kevin's right. It made it difficult to look at Leonard without appearing to stare, so Jim was left with limited knowledge of what he was feeling right now. The day had obviously taken its toll, and more- as it was his motorcycle that was currently missing. If Jim were a more intuitive person, he might have felt tempted to apologize for being short with him. But uncharitable as it was, he was still sore over earlier, even if Uhura was seeing someone and that someone _wasn't_ Leonard. Because he had been brushed aside for different plans.

Because he had been put on the backburner and Leonard had felt it necessary to lie about it.

His jacket hung open to the throat, but Jim was still cold. It wasn't quite summer yet, but it definitely wasn't spring anymore. It had to be one of the coolest nights since the end of winter, which romantically Jim hoped was an indication of the hot weather to come. Born smack-dab in the Midwest, Jim loved only three things in his weather- scorching hot, pouring rain, or feet of snow. Anything in between those felt wrong and indecisive, which he was neither. The chill was a taunt, and despite himself, Jim zipped up until it tickled his neck.

As they turned a corner towards the cross-streets which eventually merged into a single road leading out of the academy, Leonard did an accidental switch with Kevin. Jim squinted over in the faint light, confused, but Kevin he offered was an emotionally ambigious, "I'm gonna head back to my room. You can pay for my dinner another time, Jimmy," and then twisted sharply around the next corner towards the emptying quad, gone.

_Just me and him again, now, huh. _Jim found little humor in his situation. Their earlier resolution of the misunderstanding involving Leonard's study date with Uhura had been a temporary fix, a makeshift excuse. It had been an evasion of his _real _disharmony with the whole situation, and now alone with someone whom he should feel perfectly comfortable alone with, Jim felt at a loss.

He didn't quite understand it himself, but somehow, Jim knew he still failed to be good enough for people. For Leonard.

Upon befriending the doctor, Jim had secretly been a bit cautious. He was a natural extrovert, of course, and probably a serious pain in the ass to the excitable southerner, but Jim remained dubious of the sincerity in all of Leonard's patience. For eight long months now he had been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the confirmation of his inadequacy as a friend. Today, he supposed, was it.

The long lane stretching down between the campus and the gates where it ended served as a kind of anti-buffer for the growing dissonance which had wedged itself between the two men. Jim wanted to say something, but was practicing self control in the hopes that maybe it was earning him back brownie points with Leonard. He sensed an irritation there that lay with him more than the current situation, and to aggravate the itch would be dumb.

As it was break and they were in civvies, Jim surmised that they wouldn't need to show student ID until they returned to campus, so he stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled good-naturedly when the guy manning the only way out of campus sans air travel gave them an even look, assuming something.

Leonard merely muttered, "You have a good night", and pulled Jim along by the arm, doing absolutely nothing to ease suspicion. Jim laughed freely then, tiring of the odd tension that was rubbing the film they had erected between them earlier. It gave his friend noticeable pause, but Leonard said nothing to him. They lapsed back into silence.

* * *

When they arrived at the _Bean Machine_, the small lot was very sparsely populated, with only two hover cars - _one in much better shape than there other_, Jim noted - occupying the slots nearest the entrance. It was a stroke of luck that they had decided to go when they had. Being that it was Sunday; the last employee went home at nine- an hour earlier than usual. Jim figured they could grab some coffee and have time to talk things out about where the lost motorcycle might be before heading back to their dorm and microwaving some pizza bites or something. Unless, of course, Leonard decided to still take off.

_Which would blow_, Jim noted dully. On approaching the cafe, he and Leonard had a very short, wordless fight over who was opening the door, but Jim won out of stubbornness. Stalking inside, Leonard immediately called the attention of two baristas, one of them still perky and obviously appreciative of the appearance of their new patrons, and the other not quite as chipper looking, but also approving. Sensing opportunity, he let the door swing shut behind him and trailed after Leonard.

Jim grinned cheekily as he was once again reduced to a slab of meat, the more energetic woman appraising him over Leonard's shoulder before turning to visually undress Leonard.

"Good evening," he said to the more tuckered out of the two at the farther end of the counter, smiling more gently once he realized that the woman – girl – was probably not much older than seventeen and now embarrassed by the attention she was receiving. Jim took a glance at her nametag, "April. Could I trouble you for a Grande Americano with room?"

The use of her name flustered her more, to his amusement, but she surprised him with good communication skills. "Not a trouble at all. Do you want sugar or cream?"

Jim felt his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Sugar, no cream. Late night, huh?"

Now, truthfully, it wasn't that late. But he got the feeling that she worked out of necessity more than propriety, and Jim was all too familiar with the strain of working through high school. He would have probably had to continue the awful, sleep-depriving experience through college, if Jim had been motivated to attend. Starfleet, being a military organization, cost nothing but his soul.

"Yeah," April sighed, scribbling something unintelligible against the side of the cup which would house his coffee, "but that's life. $4.75, please."

Jim heard himself murmur something to the affirmative absently, leaning back to look over at his friend as he dug out his credit chip. Leonard's conversation with the outgoing woman, whom he noted looked to be about a year older than him, didn't look like it was going quite as well as Jim's. Cindy, as her nametag identified her, bubbled about something which probably made more sense to someone that was female, while Leonard gruffly answered her queries with mono-syllabic responses.

"And, whereabouts are you both from?" Cindy asked, darting a glance over to Jim and feigning surprise to smother her pleasure as she caught him looking over at them.

Leonard didn't look very pleased at all. "Starfleet. Farm boy's from Iowa and I'm Georgian," he indulged her, though he didn't make eye contact.

Jim passed April the chip without preamble, all while he observed the socially awkward spectacle. When Leonard came over to glare at him and retrieve his coffee – cappuccino white mocha – Jim just laughed. April had also passed Leonard a slip of paper, shaking her head in the negative and pointing at Cindy when he blushed beet red.

_Gentleman._

"Thank God," Leonard whispered shakily as Jim entertained himself at his friend's expense by turning back to pout at the waving, smiley barista.

"What, Bones? You can't handle a little jailbait?" Jim ribbed without malicious intent, nudging him as they sat across from each other at a window booth. The bright, artificial light of the café's interior made it that much darker outside, and Jim could barely make out the shape of someone leaving the lot. Funny, he hadn't seen or heard anyone leave.

"Sorry for not being a pedophile," he snapped in response, and Jim held a hand over his heart, wounded. Though, being frank, he wouldn't have gone after April either. He was now on the wrong side of twenty, and Jim didn't much support the divide by two plus seven rule, wherever it had come from.

_Perhaps it's time for some damage control._

"No, Bones," Jim said, popping off the top of his coffee and letting it steam liberally. "I'm sorry. We need to talk about some things, and then I'm going to help you get your bike back. I've fucked up pretty bad today." He frowned, not entirely happy with how that had come off.

Leonard softened immediately, both at the tone of his voice and his words. "You ain't done anything nearly as appalling as you think, at least not anymore'n usual," Jim's face twitched in a minuscule grimace and Leonard hastily added, "and I still tolerate you."

_Just don't pay attention to specifics_, Jim told himself at his less-than-mollifying word choice, _he doesn't know, and if he does, then- he's just being his truthful, awesome self._

"Don't worry about my motorcycle, either," Leonard continued, flicking a packet of sugar with no intention of using it. "I reported it missing."

Jim had figured as much, but hadn't brought it up on the chance that Leonard was being hopeful. "Alright, but even if we do just head back," _or I do_, "it might be a good idea to stick around for a while to see if it turns up. You know, so you don't have to pay for cab fare."

His friend looked confused for a moment, and Jim felt a part of himself curl up and die as he saw the look dawn on his face. "Jim-"

Leonard and his reply were stopped short as the high-pitched scream of tires suddenly broke the relative stillness outside, and Jim immediately tried to see what had caused it, cursing his fickle vision. In the distance, two small headlights appeared, followed by the shape of a single rider on a motorcycle.

"What the hell?" He said intelligently, getting up from the booth with a little less grace than he could have.

The response of his companion was, in comparison, far more fleet of foot. Leonard pulled Jim up and out of the seat by his shoulder, away from the window. At first it seemed the rider had intended to simply speed into the lot and announce just how much of a jackass he was, but as the span of the lights got bigger and the blurring twin orbs split into stars, he realized the speeding person's intended target was not a parking space.

_At least_, Jim mused in growing realization, _not one outdoors_.

Two things.

"_That's _my fucking motorbike!" Leonard said, furious, already moving to drag Jim outside to shout after the reckless driver. Jim complied for about ten paces, and then moved to get behind the counter, hauling Leonard with him more quickly as his panic took a sharp note.

There was a loud scraping noise as the motorcycle shouldered through the only two cars in the lot, the metal-on-metal friction causing an uncomfortable chill to racket up the backs of everyone within hearing range.

Adrenalin at fever pitch, Jim pulled down both April and Cindy forcibly, both of which whom had immediately begun to protest their actions. "Turn away from the windows!"

Not a second later, glass exploded in all directions and the shattered tinkling rained against the counter behind them. Leonard covered his neck with his hands, and Cindy and April had followed suit. Not much of it got behind the counter itself, but the hard impact of Leonard's motorcycle against the other side of their makeshift barrier made both girls scream fearfully, though Cindy's cry was probably a bit more theatrical than it should have been.

Hastily getting to his feet, Jim rotated his neck around the side of a coffee grinder to get a look at whoever had just pulled one of the crazier stunts he had ever witnessed in public - not including anything he had done himself - only to catch a view of someone's ass as they hauled out one of two intact glass doors, sprinting away into the night.

"He's gone, Bones," Jim said quietly, though there was no need. Straightening, he peered over the counter to view the damage. The motorcycle was in surprisingly good condition, though severely scratched and missing a mirror on the side it had landed on. "How the hell did he get away from that unscathed?"

Leonard got up slower than Jim had, and assisted Cindy in standing, as she was apparently wearing heels. April followed. "I don't know, but that was foolish, whatever his intentions. He could've broken a leg." His eyes widened as he looked where Jim was looking. "Oh, fuck!"

Jim marveled at how fast the doctor could really move when prompted. Leonard cleared the counter as easily as he had, kneeling to assess the bike's damage more closely. Almost immediately he coaxed a piece of seriously crumpled paper from under the front tire cover. "Hey. Look at this."

April examined it shyly, but looked more bold and affronted once she realized what it was. "A note? All that to deliver a _note_?"

Unfolding it, Leonard frowned. Jim strained to read the chicken-scratch handwriting, and reached down to take it from him, but Leonard pulled it away and frowned harder.

"What's wrong?" Jim asked, blinking as Leonard stood and turned to him with a look that mirrored the one he had given him this morning- unreadable and solemn.

"Let's go home. You can look it over on the way."

Eyebrows scrunched, Jim followed Leonard's lead and helped him right the motorcycle, awkwardly shouldering open the door as he helped him roll it outside. Jim had no idea what to say to the girls, so he got on and tested the ignition, placing faith in the belief that Leonard would take care of it - as the case usually seemed to be. When he came back out a minute later, saying he had left them a note to give to the owner of the _Bean Machine_ itself, Jim joked that he hoped they would be allowed back.

"Yeah, me too."

Feeling strange, he was passed the note, and Jim slid back in his seat to allow Leonard on to drive. Jim wrapped an arm around the man's waist with a boldness born of familiarity. He held the wrinkled paper in his other hand firmly, so as not to drop it, and they pulled away from the wrecked establishment with a jerk.

The second thing.

As Leonard drove them home, Jim read. Most of the note made little to no sense. Random words and even some odd numbers here and there. It was almost like the person writing it had no depth of field, but one sentence, the last one, stood out to him- and the more he thought about it, the more it disturbed him.

'Direct threats require decisive action.'

_What does that mean? _Jim pondered, the cryptic phrase causing an uncomfortable feeling to settle in his throat.

_And wait, what does it mean to Bones? _

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, well, ah. ::Looks around.:: That is a cliffhanger, isn't it? My bad. But.. ::Sniffs.:: I smell.. plot?


	4. Hit and Miss

**A/N: **Did I mention that if I keep making promises on when I'm going to update, the dark forces will always make sure I don't make that deadline? Abolishing any idea of when and where. And thank you to everyone that has been following this and to the awesome, awesome people who take time to review. I love you with my all heart. As a treat, you appear to be receiving semi-tasty angst and… het. Huh. I need to get better prizes. Oh, and no more word salad. For a while. Ha. (I'm lying.)

**Disclaimer: ** The rights to Star Trek go to all respective owners, of which I am not included.

**Warnings:** Frightfully unbeta'd. Mild violence and very unfortunate (?) sexy time. This is, perhaps, where the story really begins to earn its rating. As always, language. Make sure your kids aren't in the room.

* * *

Jim sipped on the lovely, lovely shit-flavored coffee their shared replicator provided. The coffee pot was broken. Like the stool, Jim had no idea how they had gotten that- but given his tendency to drink- he wasn't worried about it. They had abandoned their _good_ coffee back at the cafe, though- and as a result his mood was absolutely foul. Reclining carelessly against one of the only unoccupied walls in their dorm, Jim was not in the least bit amused by his friend's constant evasion and laughable – _but not at the moment _– attempts at trying to lie to him.

In short, concerning recent events- Leonard wasn't being very helpful.

They had been at it for about thirty minutes now, back and forth, trying to deduce what the note meant, to either of them. They were that on-track in the beginning, anyway. Now, it was as if his friend was being intentionally difficult, and Jim's outer facade of calm was taking a hard fall towards a scowl.

Because, in truth, he was absolutely furious- and really wanted to hit something. Hard. For about the third time today. Never mind the fact the fact that he'd already broken a childhood friend's nose- though Jim was not particularly satisfied with himself for having done so.

"You know, people _are_ real fruit loops sometimes- maybe some god damn high-horse fourth year wanted to fuck with a couple first years and decided the med student would be the more vulnerable of the two of us."

_Bullshit. _But he didn't say that.

Though he was practically vibrating with rage and betrayal, Jim glared and voiced his disagreement civilly. "Maybe so, Bones. But a fourth year with even an _ounce _of common sense wouldn't be enough of a dumbass to crash a_ motorcycle _into a_ coffee shop_, even off-campus, and I think you know that."

Leonard, who had been pacing across the living space of their dorm room as he tried to bullshit a rationalization – and Jim realized, suddenly, that he was probably as disturbed by this development as he was, even while obviously better informed than he – came to a full stop to look at him. His back was to the couch now, but Leonard didn't sit. Instead, he took a defensive stance- feet spread shoulder's breadth apart and arms crossed.

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

Playing dumb, then.

This did nothing to improve Jim's mood, and he set down his coffee mug on the small end-table they had set up in the corner, eyes flashing around the room seeking something to settle on before he decided making direct eye-contact with Leonard was not only unavoidable but preferred.

They took a moment to size each other up, something they hadn't done since they'd met. Was Jim seriously some kind of glass figurine to Leonard? He didn't need protection from anything, if that was what the rugged doctor was trying to get at.

"You know exactly what I mean. Stop lying to me. Actually tell me what the fuck is going on, so that I can help you." Jim said, trying to at least affect a calm demeanor. There was this bitter taste in his mouth now, and it wasn't from the coffee. He scrubbed the back of his neck with a hand in exasperation, eyes pleading for some kind of purchase in ground, some equal footing between them.

Leonard didn't say anything for a while, lips thinning into a firm line. Finally, "I'm not lying to you."

_Since when does Bones pull _this _kind of routine? _Jim realized, with little regret, that he was hurt over this oddity - _this unnatural secrecy _- more than anything, but he continued to speak his mind, even if Leonard wouldn't.

"What does that even mean? Direct threats?"

The sound of his own voice was hurting his head. "Did you piss someone off?"

Jim wouldn't bet on it, but he swore he saw a flicker of dread and recognition in his friend's gaze. So he pressed on. "Is someone after you, then? Did a patient die on the operating table, or maybe there was a misunderstanding - and now someone's bitter towards something beyond your control?"

Somehow, Jim couldn't see this as having been an intentionally malicious mistake on his Leonard's part- not the soft-on-the-inside doctor. Not _Bones. _There was some other unfortunate reason for his friend's plight.

Leonard's expression, though pinched, had once at least had a grudging complacency to it. But with Jim's last words, it darkened and shuttered closed completely.

"Don't you go saying things you don't know anything about," he warned.

Jim's frustration ticked higher. "Look, Bones, would you quit this stubborn.. _act_? I'm not. All I want is the truth, and I'm just trying to _understand_-"

"Well, maybe I'm not tellin' you the truth because someone like you _can't _understand this shit, Jim!"

He felt his eyes widen momentarily before they narrowed, and he opened his mouth to retort, but apparently Leonard wasn't finished. They were both breathing hard- short, angry breaths, and Jim's hands curled into fists involuntarily. "You don't mean that-"

"Just stop it, kid," He said, voice thick, "You couldn't do anything to help me if you tried. "

Jim wasn't the kind of person to lash out in anger when sober, not even really before Starfleet. He would occasionally get into scuffles with Sam over something trivial. Or boys at school, who thought he was some kind of freak for getting good grades, and understanding curriculum far beyond his age, would pick on him. It was a facet in how he met Christopher Pike one night, in a bar in Iowa. And even at the academy- people would start scraps, either out of boredom or out of more personal misunderstandings. For Jim Kirk, it was a fairly unavoidable phenomenon. So he fought back when he had to, but Jim almost never started a fight if he had his faculties in check.

It took only a few paces before Jim stood before the best friend he'd had yet. As is the nature of life, there is a first time for all things. And though Jim thought himself to be the exception to many rules, this didn't happen to be one of them.

The first swing Jim ever successfully landed on Leonard Horatio McCoy was also the last one.

Flesh knocking into flesh resounded around the room in an echo. As soon as the punch connected, he felt himself draw back in his fury and shame, knuckles hurting. Leonard had fallen to one knee from the force of it, and met his gaze resentfully, not making any move to hit him back. The intensity of that stare is what caused Jim to stumble back, hands catching on the corner of the partition wall between the hall to the door and the living area.

A choked apology tried to work its way out of his throat and aborted almost as soon as it got there.

"Go."

Jim hardly even heard Leonard's tight-voiced command as he fumbled for the door panel, heart thrumming in his ears and blood running hot from disgrace.

* * *

_Well. This is different._

He didn't expect to end up at Uhura's dorm. In fact, in running, Jim hadn't even really known where he was going- only that it was the place he needed to be, then. His mind was fogged, like he'd been sedated for a long time. Jim likened it to when he had gone into shock after having a broken bottle shoved into his stomach, which was – Oh, that's right – on a night out without Leonard, who had immediately gone pale and sworn up a storm when he showed up back their room bleeding and with shards of glass stuck in his gut.

But this wasn't that kind of shock.

There was no tingling numbness in his fingers and toes, no mild separation from the world around him. Everything had been thrown into stark relief. His body was overheated and sore. His mind was pinched and without any hope for clarity, but very much aware of his surroundings. Jim could feel, and he felt pissed- both at himself and at Leonard. Leonard, who didn't trust him. Leonard, who had lied to him without a second thought.

Why _do I feel so deceived_? He thought irritably, shivering lightly from the fact that his skin, meeting with the cold now that he had stopped running, was cooling rapidly. Trust Uhura to live on a section of campus that had outdoor-accessible dorm rooms. It wasn't even really that chilly- but Jim had worked himself up and was just now experiencing the elements from a heated state of being.

How ironic.

He stood there. He wasn't sure whether he should knock or collect himself and go apologize to Leonard- _but he was so angry. _It was a toss-up between Jim's ego and Jim's emotions, and his emotions won out in the end.

He knocked on the door.

Jim didn't know why he expected anyone to be home on break, but Gaila was there, in jean shorts and a loosely buttoned white blouse. To anyone else, it might have been an embarrassment to have been caught in a state of undress, but she appeared to be perfectly comfortable as the breeze caught on the edge of her shirt and ruffled her tomato-red hair.

Seemingly of his body's own volition, an infectious arousal took hold of him. Jim took a deep breath, realizing that she probably wasn't taken her pheromone suppressors right now and that it had been either a brilliant or horrible idea to come here - _most likely the latter_ - and that he should leave before something bad happened. He was almost impressed. Technically - _though not by much _- he was upwind of her, and there was no reason any woman should smell that potent.

But Jim was a man, either way. The somewhat drowsy Orion woman blinked at him fondly, and motioned Jim inside- obviously not understanding why he was here but probably not caring. And he felt kind of funny as he stepped forward- dizzy. The blood that had before been earlier running hot with wrath was now pooling comfortably in his abdomen out of lust, and Jim came to the conclusion that this was a decent enough escape from whatever had happened back there with Leonard.

It would be difficult to fight this anyway. He was already half-hard in his jeans, and a delirious but satisfied hum left his lips.

"Can I help you, Jim?" She asked him plainly, eyes sparkling at his dazed expression. "You look rough."

Jim nodded and corralled her into a corner, the door _whoosh_ing closed behind him. He was met with little resistance as he caught her wrists in his hands and brought them to her sides- he'd come over like this before, albeit with much more preamble and never quite so spontaneously. Pinning Gaila to the wall, Jim mouthed her pulse point and gently pushed a leg in between her thighs. She caught his lips in a kiss that lacked romantic spark, understanding without need for words what Jim was after, and canted her hips into his.

And if Jim's mind was feeling hazy before, now it was just a smudge. Everything blurred together, from when he took off Gaila's shirt and pawed at her to when she got his pants open and dropped down to swallow his cock. Everything didn't make sense anymore, but Jim was alright with that. It was like being drunk, and though he had never been with Gaila when she wasn't on her suppressors before...

He feared no repercussions.

Jim vaguely recalled moaning as he thrust shallowly into the damp heat her mouth provided, before insistently pulling back to move towards any available surface- intent on continuing their activities horizontally. Gaila spared no thought towards Uhura, it seemed, as they mounted her bed, and he wondered why that was- but not by much. He felt absolutely soaked in the Orion chemicals she was involuntarily drugging him with, and Jim welcomed the apathetic lust it replaced his harsh emotions with.

Later, he would probably regret being so enthused - and smashed - that he had forgotten to use protection, but Jim got the feeling that Gaila was a woman who came prepared, so when he entered her, and all she did was snake her legs around his waist and arch into him pliantly- Jim abandoned reality and lost himself in sensation. He eventually brought both Gaila and himself to a relative state of completion and, collapsing beside her, promptly passed out.

Not once did he stop to think of what Leonard might have thought about it, but at the time, Jim didn't care.

* * *

It was only when he opened his eyes blearily, ironically and perhaps a bit too conveniently the morning of the same day Gaila's cycle ended, that Jim realized what he had done.

_Fuck. _He frowned, guilt returning full force.

_Bones. He might still be in danger._

In the slate-blue light, he forced himself to wake up fully and rolled out bed. His temples had an odd pulse to them. Jim's clothes, which were strewn about the room in a very haphazard assembly, were pulled on as an ache set into his limbs. He made his way to the bathroom to relieve himself quietly, and then woke Gaila.

"Thank you," he said, kissing her on the cheek lightly.

She quirked a smile at him and winked, nuzzling back into the covers.

"No problem, Jim."

As soon as she'd fallen back asleep, Jim ran. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

* * *

**A/N: **And on note, if you do not want/can not review for any reason, please consider taking the time to vote on the poll I have up on my page. I really need help in deciding where to take this story pairing-wise, and am probably more self-conscious than I should be about how well this would be received as slash or even just pre-slash. I have already pretty much declared this story friendship-centric, so don't worry about that changing- because it's the key point of the series, beyond Jim's addiction to coffee. Thank you for reading. And don't you worry about Leonard- much. Mwuaha.


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